Egesgríman
by FeathersandBones
Summary: They should've known history doesn't always repeat itself. That the sense of security was false. So why were they here, watching the world turn cold and starless? It was supposed to be over! England felt the glass shatter beneath him and the blood start to run. Saw them scream. He couldn't hear. He didn't care. They weren't supposed to be there. None of them. T for Language.
1. Prologue

**Egesgríman – Prologue**

**The first chapter is coming. **

**But the Prologue comes first. The chapters will be longer.**

**Links to other Chapters:**

Italy's first indication was the cats. They were everywhere. They were flocking the streets, flooding shops and cafés, and overtaking the gondolas in Venice. Somewhere in Rome a cat had entered one of the old roman vaults and had knocked over a vase; in Turin at least 15 had invading the Shrine. Italy placed his coffee and newspaper on the café table and sighed.

They really were everywhere.

Italy knew Romano was experiencing the same thing. Other than the fact that he could literally see the cats invading stores and houses, Veneziano could still feel the troubles of the rest of the south, just has his brother could feel those in the northern part of their shared peninsula. It was confusing and complicated and Italy tried not to think about it.

What he did start to think about is why Greece had sent him and his brother thousands of cats, one of which was lapping at his (now cold) coffee. Italy sighed and stood. Greece rarely even dared to set foot near Italy, no matter how many times Veneziano (and his brother) had welcomed him. Why he would be doing it now was quite out of the ordinary.

Is it? A voice in the back of his mind questioned. What about the recent war? Romans and Greeks coming together…

America had discussed it with him, voicing his concerns over the two clashing. Italy's heart went out to the young nation. Being the home of both the Roman and Greek gods had to cause some major migraines. A meow pulled Italy from his thoughts. Greece's cat had finished off the last of his coffee and was staring at him expectantly. Italy went to pet it, but the cat arched its back and hissed, leaping off the table and landing gracefully on the cobblestone street. It dashed off down the street, looking back once as if to see if Italy would follow. The nation reluctantly began to pursue the feline, which had begun weaving through the crowd. More cats joined it, until Italy had a posse of five felines, leading him through the main streets of Abruzzo, passing medieval house after house, before disappearing into one of the back streets. Italy quickly followed suit, only to find himself alone in the alley way. The cats had disappeared, leaving Italy alone, confused and somewhat pissed off.

_"Merda."_

The curse echoed down the alley, bouncing off stone walls before the sound dispersed into the morning air.

"Tsk tsk, Ιταλία." The sleepy voice that stopped Italy in his tracks had little to no echo to it. It simply floated along the walls until it reached the Italian nation's ears. "Didn't Grandpa Ρώμη teach you to mind your language?" Italy squinted his eyes, the dim light in the alley way making it hard to see the nation in front of him. The smile on Greece's face made Italy take a step back in confusion. He could tell immediately it was fake; forced even, as if the nation was in terrible pain. However, Italy quickly regained his posture and gave a silly smile.

"Ve~ Greece, what brings you-a here?"

Greece frowned and Italy's own fake smile was quickly wiped off his face. For the first time, the Italian nation noticed the crimson stain that covered the front of Greece's uniform. It was steadily growing and the poor country was shaking. Greece stumbled and reached for the other country.

"I-Italy…I-"

Italy rushed forward and caught the other nation when he pitched forward. Greece was heavy in Italy's arms and the smaller nation trembled for a minute before he heaved Greece over his shoulder and carried him to one of the alley walls. Greece's head lolled and his chin hit his chest. Italy gulped and tried to wake the nation.

"Greece...ve...come on, w-what's going on...?"

The only response was a small grunt from the unconscious nation. Italy felt his heart pounding in his chest as he began to inspect Greece's wounds. Blood. There was too much blood. Italy growled in frustration. He couldn't even find the initial wound among the crimson mess. Rolling his eyes, Italy looped his arms around Greece's waist and hoisted him up. Nearby a cat hissed, Italy paid it no attention. At the moment, the only thing he was worried about was getting Greece home and treated without being stopped by the police.

_Ve~ Oh no sir, I was-a just bringing him-a home...blood? Oh no no no… it's...err...wine. Yes, wine. You see he's-a terribly drunk and in no condition to get home by himself, you see…_

Yes. Nothing could possibly go wrong with that _brilliant _excuse.

With one more check to make sure no one would see them, Italy stumbled out the other end of the alley, Greece's limp legs almost touching the ground as Italy carried him home.

By the time they reached the small house it was dark outside, only the moon and the stars lighting the small path that led to the front door. The top most window of the house was lit, meaning Romano was home. Italy huffed and repositioned Greece so that he "sat" more comfortably on Italy's shoulder. Romano would _not _be happy. Italy winced as he felt another cat knock over a pedestal in Rome. Yes, definitely not happy. Sighing, he began to stagger up the path to the house, almost kicking a cat that had decided to cross his path. When he reached the door, he struggled for a few moments to use his hand to open it while still holding Greece before he finally relented and just used his mouth to turn the knob. He would undeniably have to wash out his mouth after that, because whatever was on that door knob tasted disgusting. Italy stumbled into that house, kicking the door closed, and unceremoniously dumped Greece on the nearest chair. The fire in the fire place had long since gone out, but Italy could still feel the warmth of home seeping into his skin. There was still blood on his hands so he made his way to the kitchen and washed his hands. Smiling, Italy put the small cork in the drain to stops the water and added some soap, as if to create a mini bubble bath. He kept the water running and began to scrub his hands furiously, crinkling his nose at how red the once clean water became. Closing his eyes, he let the sound of rushing water fill his ears, blocking out the thoughts of Greece and cats and everything that was causing him such a migraine that it was becoming ridiculous.

He didn't even hear the sound of footsteps his brother made on his way down stairs.

"CHIGIIIIIIIIIII!" The scream split through the sound of rushing water and caused Italy to jump so high he banged his head on one of the overhanging cabinets. Italy whipped around just as Roman pushed Greece off the chair and turned his head towards Italy, his eyes wide with fury.

"N-n-now R-Romano, calm d-down! I-I can explain-"

_"__WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"_

Italy stumbled back. Romano's Italian was slurred with anger and Italy couldn't help but notice how red his brother's face was becoming.

_"__Romano…j-just hold on a second, okay…I can-"_

_"__I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT, VENEZIANO! YOU COME DOWN HERE TO VISIT ME AND I PLAN TO HAVE A NICE RELAXING WEEKEND AND WHAT DO YOU DO? YOU DUMP SOME HALF DEAD COUNTRY ON ONE OF MY ANTIQUE CHAIRS AND EXPECT ME TO BE OKAY WITH IT! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS CHAIR COST ME?! DO YOU?! A LOT!"_

Romano finished his rant with a few more curses before picking up Greece and dragging him into the kitchen. Italy gulped as Romano dropped the nation on the floor. Greece moaned and Romano got ready to kick him.

_"__Romano don't!"_

_"__Why not?!" _Romano's face was steadily growing redder by the second. Italy slowly put a hand on the steaming Italian's shoulder, but Romano growled and pushed him away. Italy gulped as his brother pointed at Greece's limp form.

_"__Explain."_

Italy stuttered something about cats and an alley and about Greece coming to visit him while Romano began to inspect the wounds on the unconscious nation. Italy heard his brother growl in frustration.

_"__Bring me some bandages and a wet rag, will ya… NOW!"_

Italy yelped and dashed up stairs, rummaging through the cabinets for the first aid kit and running into the bathroom for a wet rag. He nearly jumped down the stairs and skipped the last four, almost crashing into Romano when he reached the kitchen. Romano grabbed the supplies and started to clean and dress Greece's wounds while Italy began to mop up the blood from the floor. Romano's chair was beyond repair, but Italy doubted it mattered too much. His brother had about five more of the same style in his basement at his house in Naples. He'd be fine.

Greece on the other hand was clearly not fine. He was pale, shivering and his breath was haggard and strained. Italy flinched as Greece coughed, a horrible hacking sound that made it seem as if his throat was being torn apart. Romano simply continued to clean Greece's wounds, but Italy could feel his brother's horror; wave after wave of it coming of the older of the two. Neither of the Italians was partial to blood and gore so to have one of their own kind half dead on the kitchen floor was beyond disturbing. By the time Romano had finished cleaning Greece's wounds, the rag was completely red and a metallic stench hung in the air. Greece's breathing was still labored; however the country seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep and already his wounds showed signs of healing. Romano sighed and sat back on his heels, dropping the red rag beside him. Feliciano knelt down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. For once, Romano seemed too tired to shrug him off.

"_What do you suppose happened, Romano?"_

Italy's older stared blankly ahead for a moment before answering.

_"__How the hell should I know? You were the one that brought him home."_

Italy nodded and stood.

_"__I'll bring him upstairs to the guest room,"_ he said and went to pick up Greece. Romano's hand grabbed his before he could even the touch the sleeping nation.

_"__Veneziano, if he wakes up, remember everything he says… countries like Greece shouldn't be injured like this." _Romano let go of Italy's arm. _"Something's very wrong here, Veneziano."_

Italy nodded in agreement and lifted Greece up, careful not to disturb his healing injuries. Slowly, he made his way up the winding stairs and into the guest bed room. He place Greece gingerly onto the bed and got him comfortable, adjusting his pillow and what not. When he was done he turned and shut the window, cutting off the cold night air.

Afterwards, Italy simply stood by Greece's bedside in silence. He could here Romano mopping up downstairs, cursing as he did. For a moment he wondered if letting Romano clean-up was really such a good idea, but a moan from Greece drew him away from his thoughts. The nation did not wake, but Italy could see his eyes moving behind their lids; frantic and jerky. Italy watched as Greece mumbled in his sleep, grimacing and moaning. Nightmares were the only explanation. Italy was almost tempted to wake Greece from his slumber out of pity when a great splash of water came for down stairs. Within seconds, Italy remembered the sink, just in time for Romano's furious scream, accompanied by a suspicious sloshing.

"_GOD DAMMIT VENEZIANO, YOU FORGOT TO TURN THE FUCKING WATER OFF!"_

**Tada**.


	2. Chapter 1

**Egesgríman – Chapter 1**

**Because I can.**

**Links to other chapters:**

-Prologue-

**Chapter 1**

"NO, I WON'T! I WON'T BLOODY GO THROUGH WITH IT! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! YOU BLOODY CAN'T!"

America sighed and took a step back, allowing the Englishman in front of him to pace back and forth. England's (or was he going by Britain today…either way, it really didn't matter to America.) hands were clenched at his side and his eyes bore into America's with such a fury that the former colony had to look away. Of course England had a right to be angry, but couldn't he at least hear America out? He had just started yelling and yelling and yelling. America had yet to a word in edgewise. Wasn't this the reason America broke away in the first place; because England wouldn't fucking lis-

No. This wasn't the time to dwell on the past. If England didn't join, he and Greece were srewed. Italy and Romano, too, probably.

England _could_ back out, though. He truly did have the right to say no. He wasn't connected to this; at least, not as much as some other countries. However, if he really did say no and refuse…well, then that would really suck for America and the rest of the world.

England's yelling brought America back into reality.

"I CAN'T…I WON'T! I-I REFUSE!"

"England please…

"No, America! I can't afford to join this war; this, this movement. I-I…" England's voice faltered and he sat back in one of the old armchairs that inhabited the living room. Beside him, on a small table, a cup of tea sat, forgotten. America sat down across from England and crossed his legs, before quickly uncrossing them and then re-crossing them again. England stared at the America, his green eyes dull and tired. America didn't say anything, only sat and stared back. He had explained to England the situation as best he could, but England had almost immediately started yelling at him about how it was a "Bloody stupid idea that only a wanker-like-you would even think of!"

Funny, it was Greece's idea to begin with.

England's hands shifted until they held his head, covering his face. He mumbled something to himself before lifting his head to look America in the eye.

"I can't America… I don't have resources to support such a thing. I don't have the knowledge. Greek mythology is a mystery to me compared to things such as…as…"

"Shakespeare?"

England glared at him, but America only smirked.

"England, I'm not asking you for men or money. I'm asking for you. For you and your magic and your knowledge; maybe not of Greek mythology, but of war and of the world." The young nation paused as England threw him a look at the mention of magic. "As much as I hate to admit it, the only reason I'm a country today is because of you. You helped me once, and I _need_ your help again. Greece needs your help. Italy and Romano and every other country in the world need your help, even if they don't realize it yet."

England remained silent after America finished, staring at the floor. The silence drew on until a few minutes had passed by. America was almost ready to leave when England spoke.

"What will you need from me, America?"

America almost smiled, but settled for a nod. Now came the awkward part.

"To be honest, England, I don't know." He heard a growl emit from the still form across from him. "It was Greece who asked me to ask you. But I can tell you that we will need your help and that if you don't…" America paused, and looked down. "…if you don't, more than just Greece, Italy and I will be in trouble. This isn't just about the 'heart of the west' or the Empire State Building. It won't even be like the last war. It's going to be so much bigger."

England looked up and swallowed. America stood and turned to the door.

"Listen, if you really don't want to, you don't ha-"

"No!"

America turned to face him. England's eyes would not move to meet his, but he took a deep breath.

"If you really need me…then I'll help. I can't just leave yo- an idiot like you to fend for yourself during a war."

America opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. For a moment, he considered staying a little longer; maybe spending a little more time with the man he used to call "brother." But in the end, he quietly opened England's front door and stepped onto the landing.

"Thank you, England. I'll call you once I talk to Greece."

No one responded, so America simply closed the door and began to walk down the long drive that led to the streets of London. A taxi was parked, waiting for him there. When he drew nearer, a man in a suit open the door and allowed him inside without a word, something America was grateful for.

England would probably go off to drink now and France would call America at three in the morning demanding why England was drunk on his door step. Or France would take advantage of the situation, the thought of which made America shudder. However, America could not erase the image of England's eyes from his mind. Eyes filled with despair and sadness and longing.

America felt the car lurch forward and they began to drive off. A few drops of rain hit the window and, not to long after, it began to pour.

Maybe America really was as stupid as everyone thought, but when the opportunity to check in on the camp presented itself, he couldn't resist. He had tried to contact Greece, but hadn't received an answer. He was beyond worried; the fact that Greece hadn't even called him back after five tries was sending chills down America's spine and the only thing he could think to do at the moment was visit the camp. Besides, it was past midnight. No one in their right mind would be out now, save maybe a certain horse dude he knew, so no one would notice. When they arrived at the hill, the large tree that greeted America was swaying gently in the wind. It looked like America had brought the rain of England with him back home as now it showered the New York country side, making the roads slippery. A few cats still remained near the camp, loitering on the hill side. As America past them in his small trek up to the border, they purred, rubbing against his legs in an attempt to be pet. America hoped he wasn't the only one Greece had sent a bajillion cats to. That would _so_ not be cool.

By the time he reached the tree, America's entourage of cats had multiplied at an alarming rate. He shooed them away, nudging them with his feet until they retreated back down the hill, heads low. He watched them go until the dark of the night all but made them disappear and then began to cross the border into camp.

The snort was what stopped him. To his left, curled around the might tree, a large dragon stared at him. It did not bare its teeth in aggression, but America could see the warning in its eyes. It took the nation a minute to realize who it was.

"Peleus?"

The dragon snorted as if to say: _yeah, and who are you, kid?_

America bent down so that he was eye level with the dragon. Peleus was large, but he still had a ways to go before he was full grown. America tried to reach out a hand to pet the dragon, but the creature hissed at him and drew his head back. America pouted.

"Dude, come on, it's me, America. Alfred? Don't you remember? I'm the one that brought you to Chiron in the first place!"

Clearly Peleus did not remember and America soon found himself holding open the jaws of a large dragon before they closed around his head. Peleus huffed in annoyance.

"C'mon Pel. Don't you remember how I had to carry you into camp at night so no one would see us?" _GRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! _"O-or how I-I g-gave you a h-hamburger as a t-treat b-before I left...?

The thought of a hamburger is what made the dragon pause and actually take a look at he what was trying to devour. Maybe the lighting had been bad (although it was still dark as hell out) or maybe the dragon had been too focused on the word "kill," but whatever had caused Peleus to attack America blindly had disappeared, leaving a very confused dragon and a very relieved nation. Peleus snorted and backed away from America, allowing the superpower to catch his breath.

"Whew….been a while since I had to fight anything like that before."

Peleus only stared, as if still trying to figure out the connection he held with this strange human-thing. However it was only for a moment, for, with a growl of happiness, Peleus quite literally jumped into America's arms and began...was that _purring?_

America staggered at the unexpected weight of the _purring _dragon before regaining his balance and hugging back.

"Haha! Yeah, dude! Told ya I wasn't a threat." America smile and set Peleus down. "Now hows 'bout letting me into the camp. I gotta talk with Chiron. It's pretty important."

The dragon dipped his head and returned to the tree, closing one eye while the other remained trained on America. The nation took that as his key to enter and slowly pushed past the barrier. He could feel the camp working against him; he wasn't a demigod after all. But finally something clicked and he slipped through. He turned back to thank Peleus, but the dragon looked to be fast asleep and America decided it was best to let sleeping dragons lie.

The country re-adjusted his bomber jacket and began making his way down the other side of the hill. Everything was silent, save for the lapping of the bay on the shore in the distance. The inside of each cabin was dark and as America made his way to the large house near the edge of the circle of cabins, he swore he heard a few snores erupt from what he guessed was the Ares cabin. He almost laughed at loud, but forced himself to keep it in. Upon reached the deck of the Big House, America turned and looked out across the camp. The soft light of the lava wall could be seen in the distance while once of the cabins had begun to glow a dim silver. Near the very edge of the circle of cabins, one with Greek fire burning outside was giving off a sickly green light. But everything was silent and peaceful and undisturbed.

America grimaced.

The steps up to the porch of the Big House creaked so much that America half expected the entire camp to wake up at the noise. He quickly skipped the last step and headed for the door, quietly turning the knob and letting himself in. After one step into the house, he realized something.

_I'm breaking and entering…_

The epiphany almost sent him outside and back up the hill had it not been for the growl that emitted from somewhere in the dark room. America jumped back only to find the door closed. The growl came again.

_Fuck! Oh_ _gods, is this how it will end? Being killed by an old, Greek ghost?! Really?! Really?!_ America's hands shook as he fumbled with the door knob. "C'mon, c'mon!"

Suddenly light flooded the room and America could clearly make of out the living room of the Big House, along with the mounted head of a leopard, which was staring at him hungrily. America fell back against the door, a sigh of relief escaping from his mouth. Wait…when did they get a leopard?

The _clip clop_ of hooves on the wooden floor boards of the old house suddenly caught America's attention as they began to grow louder and louder until the nation could make out the silhouette of a centaur against the hallway wall. The bow in the centaur's hands was drawn and ready, an arrow already notched. America gulped.

"H-hey…Chiron!" America's voice somehow managed to break through his wall of terror. "I-it's me! Alfred! Alfred J-Jones!"

He decided not to add the F. This was not the time.

The centaur's shadow faltered before Chiron finally stepped into the light, and his bow dropped upon seeing the young nation. America let out a breath of relief he didn't realize he was holding before standing up straight.

"Um…hi."

"By the gods, Alfred…what the Hades are you doing here?"

America swore he heard the ground rumble.

"Just, uh," Gulp. "Uh…checking in. You know… just see'n how my ol' buddy Chiron is do'in!"

Chiron stared at him for a good minute or so before shaking his head.

"Alfred, even I could come up with a better excuse than that."

America sighed.

"Seriously though, I am checking in. I talked with Greece earlier this week. There have been some strange things going on."

Chiron looked down and seemed to mumble something like "oh, not again" before nodding and motioning for America to follow him.

_GRRRRRRAAAAAA_

"Oh, shut up!" Chiron grumbled at the leopard head and threw what seemed to be a sausage into its open maw. It eyed America carefully as they passed by and the nation decided it was safer to keep moving and stay close to Chiron.

They walked down the hallway of the house. America followed close behind Chiron, examining the many pictures that covered the wall. Everywhere he looked, the faces of demigods stared back. He smiled at ones from a long time ago, reminiscing about the kids in the photo. Here and there he would find a picture of an old friend and, after a while, an ache began to build up somewhere in his chest. He had never been in this part of the house before and seeing the old faces of friends long gone was bringing back too many memories.

A few new pictures did capture America's attention however. The happy faces of three figures made America smile immediately. Chiron stopped and seemed to notice America's fascination for the picture.

"Ah yes, the Hero of the Prophecy."

America laughed.

"Yeah." America sighed. "They should make a comic book 'bout him."

"Perhaps that is the reason the world of the ancient Greeks came here," Chiron said with a knowing smile. America turned to look at him, but the centaur had already resumed walking. America followed close behind, all the while staring at the photos on the walls.

"Why do you say that?"

Chiron led America into a small room, an office, and turned to him once inside.

"You and the ancient Greeks have something in common, my dear country." Chiron had a small twinkle in his eye. "You both love a good hero."

America smiled a bit and nodded, before looking around the room. It was tiny, but not cramped, and had a small writing desk in the right hand corner. A window let in just enough light that a small desk lamp was the only other source of light in the room. Other than that, the only things in the room were some more pictures of demigods on the walls. Chiron made his way over to the desk and picked up a stack of papers. He handed them to America, who at once saw they were files, letters and other important looking documents, all addressed to him.

"I suggest you do not read them here," the centaur said, but did not elaborate. "Now, what did you come here for, America. I doubt it was just to stop by and check in, not that that wouldn't be appreciated."

America sighed and shook his head. He wasn't truly sure why he had felt the need to come here. Maybe he just needed some advice.

"I can't get in touch with Greece."

Chiron looked at him.

"He called me a while ago," America said quietly. "He said he felt something…like an eerie feeling that he couldn't shake."

"And what did he say after that?"

"He didn't." America felt guilty for the look of concern that crossed Chiron's face. "He just said he needed to go and hung up…"

America trailed off and watched as Chiron began to shuffle frantically through the doors of the desk. The centaur mumbled as he did so and, although America tried to distinguish what he was saying, the words remained in-cohesive to the nation. Finally Chiron stopped, but when he turned to face America he remained empty handed.

"It seems I have misplaced an important document that may have helped out in such a predicament." He sighed. "In the meantime, we might as well visit Rachael. She might be able to give us some information on what's going on."

"Rachael?"

"Ah, yes. You have yet to meet our new Oracle of Delphi. Quite a smart, young lady, she is. I'm sure you'll like her."

America truly smiled for the first time that day.

"Dude, you mean no more creepy ghost-mummy?!"

Chiron chuckled.

"You weren't scared of that 'creepy _ghost_-mummy,' were you, America?"

"What? Dude, n-no way!"

Chiron chuckled and left the room with America trailing behind.

"I will warn you though, America. Rachel is still the Oracle of Delphi. Delphi speaks through her."

America gulped.

"So…does that mean that the…the…creepy, green snake-y smokey thing…."

"Still happens? Indeed."

America couldn't help it when a groan escaped his mouth as they exited the Big House and began making their way across the camp. Sunlight was just beginning to peak over horizon line, droplets of light dancing across the water in the lake. America stopped and looked at the sky for a moment, hoping to catch a glimpse of Apollo, but the god did not appear. Instead, America was left to run and catch up to Chiron, who had already began heading towards the small peaks near the edge of the camp.

"The cliffs…?"

Chiron smiled and placed a hand on America's shoulder.  
"Yes. Apollo was quite enthusiastic about his new oracle have a, as they say, 'sweet crib' to reside in."

America laughed when Chiron made a face at the wording. They were climbing now, slowly making their way up to what looked to be a small cave. The climb wasn't steep but it was still dark, even with the sun rising steadily in the sky. America almost fell twice, prompting Chiron to catch him before he could fall.

"It's not like I'll die or anything," the nation said, brushing himself off after thanking the centaur once again. Chiron only shrugged.

"Instinct, I guess. When you live in a camp full of accident prone demigods, immortality is hard to remember."

"I'm not immortal, Chiron."

Chiron didn't respond to that last statement so America decided to let it drop. They had reached the cave, which had a shimmering, green curtain covering the entrance. For a second, America almost thought it was see through, but upon further inspection he found that the curtain had a display of images, moving images, scattered about its form.

"This looks like something Iggy told me about," he murmured, fingering the delicate fabric. Chiron looked at him.

"Iggy?"

"England."

"Ah."

The curtain shifted at the sound of Chiron's voice and America stumbled back as the fabric disappeared and revealed a narrow passage way. It was too dark inside to see where it led.

"Yes, this is _such _a sweet crib, Chiron."

"Yes, well we've had re-furbished to meet Apollo's needs of having a creepy entrance, but the inside is quite comfortable and nice."

"Uh-huh."

America followed Chiron into the cave, gripping the wall as a guide as they descended farther and farther into the dark. They fell silent after that, footsteps echoing down the passage. America used the time to think and ponder (something England insisted he never did.) Why would Greece answer him? What was going on that kept Greece from talking to him about the camps? America didn't like to admit he was scared, but he was definitely concerned. Countries didn't just stop caring about a major part of their history, even if that part had moved to another country. It was history for a reason. America shook his head and tried to focus on moving forward without bumping into something. Not that there was much to bump into to begin with. The passage way was almost completely void on anything, including a light. Beside him, America could hear the "clip clop" of Chiron's hooves on the stone floor. They continued on like that for a few minutes and then, just as America was about to ask when they would get there, suddenly the passage opened up to a small alcove, lit only by a single torch. A wooden door blocked them from going forward anymore.

A hand on his shoulder told America to move back and, without a word, Chiron moved forward and gave a sharp knock on the door. The sound echoed down the hall, bouncing off the walls before dwindling away. For a few seconds nothing happened, but then America could hear footsteps and the doorknob shifted. The nation half expected a monster to come crashing into them, but instead a girl opened the door, her red hair like fire in the torch light.

"Chiron," she said with a smile. Her eyes drifted over to America. "And, someone else. Come on in."

She was about to turn away and lead them in before she stopped and looked back.

"Do you guys want coffee or anything?"

Rachel Elizabeth Dare's cave was _indeed _a sweet crib. America soon found himself sitting in one of the plushest, softest chairs he had ever had the honor of sitting in. It wasn't even a true chair. It was more like a pillow and a bean bag had gotten freaky one night and…and…

The result was like a marsh-mellow you could sit on. Genius!

Rachel was dressed in a simple T-shirt and yoga pants, both of which were splattered with dried paint. (Both Chiron and America apologized profusely for waking her up so early, but 'no, no! It was fine.') A fire crackled in the small hearth near the right of which America could only describe as an artist's dream flat. A small kitchen and a sitting area provided comfy warm places to sit and eat and converse. A small hallway led to what America could only guess was a bedroom. A small bathroom was all that was left before the rest of the home was donated to art and music and a bunch of other stuff someone might find in a rebellious teen-artist's room. Canvases big and small lined the walls of the house. The walls themselves were filled with murals that Rachel must have painted herself. In the corner, a stereo system and a few CDs stood by in case a music emergency was at hand. Books and trinkets lined a hand painted shelf in another corner of the room. America smiled as he looked around and sipped at one amazing cup of coffee.

Rachel herself was sitting across from Chiron and America, a mug of hot tea held gingerly in her hands.

America leaned over to Chiron and whispered; "Oh yeah, definitely something Iggy would love."

"I thought England was quite the gentleman?"

"He's secretly a punk at heart."

"So," Rachel smiled and set her tea down on a book resting on top of a small coffee table. "What can I help you with?"

Chiron and America had both agreed not to tell Rachel anything about the nation just yet; neither his human name nor his true nature.

"Well, my dear," Chiron said. "We were hoping you might be able to give us a prophecy."

Rachel gave a small laugh.

"I'm sorry to break it to you, but I can't just summon the Spirit of Delphi at will. It just comes."

"Yes, well, could you at least try?" Chiron had chosen not to have anything to drink and now his hands fingered restlessly at the pages of a magazine on the table. "There seem to be some, ah…" He glanced at America. "…national mythological problems. Big problems."

Rachel sighed.

"I need a bit more information than that."

"We really don't know much more than that." It was America who spoke now, causing both Rachel and Chiron to look at him. He looked down at the coffee in his hands. "Sorry."

Rachel shook her head. "Listen, I really can't just spew out a prophecy at will. I'm really sorry."

Chiron placed a hand on the girls head and stood, bowing his head as to not bump it on the ceiling. America followed suit and shook Rachel's hand.

"Thanks anyways, ya know."

Rachel nodded.

"You never told me your name."

America smiled.

"Not important."

Rachel only rolled her eyes and led them to the door.

"I'll keep trying, Chiron, but no promises."

"It is fine, Miss. Dare. You did your best."

America nodded.

"Thanks for the coffee."

Rachel shook her head and smiled.

"It was really no problem at all. And, Chiron, I talk to you if I find someth-"

Rachel pitched forward so fast America almost didn't have time to catch her. When he did, the first thing he noticed was that she was shivering and her body was cold as ice.

"C-Chiron…"

Rachel's body stiffened in the Nation's arms and America almost screamed when her head turned to look at him. Her eyes were white and a green mist poured from her mouth. The light in the alcove flickered and America felt Chiron pull him back as Rachel stood, her body swaying. Green tendrils of smoke coiled at their feet and America could hear voices swimming around him. Chiron pushed him back and America could see his body twitching, the horse in him dying to get out, to flee. In an instant, America saw Rachel's mouth open wide and a voice too old and too ancient to be hers spilled out, sending chills down America's spine. Chiron grabbed America's arm and as the voice rose and filled the caves, the nation could hear the centaur's voice clear as day behind him.

"We have to get Greece!"

**Hoopla**.


	3. Chapter 2

**Egesgríman - Chapter 2**

**Finals are over! I can get back to writing!**

**IMPORTANT: There is a Tumblr Blog for Egesgriman. There you can find art, facts and side notes. You may ask any questions, send ideas or even post your own fanart (always appreciated.) Any art I post WILL BE CONSIDERED CANON unless stated otherwise. The link to the blog is on my profile. Thank you.**

**Blurp.**

**Guess I should say I own neither Hetalia nor PJO.**

Italy really regretted going downstairs to make dinner. Just as he was about to cut some fresh basil and stir the sauce, Greece screamed so loud that Italy almost dropped the knife on his own finger. Above the clatter of pots and silverware, Italy could hear Romano screeching profanities at their guest. Italy grimaced and made the difficult decision to leave the now boiling pasta and save Greece. He raced up the stairs and opened the door to the guest room and almost screamed at the sight before him.

North Italy pounced on South and wrestled him to the floor. Greece sat in bed, covers ruffled, clutching his neck and gasping for air. Romano continued to scream and curse at the poor nation until Veniziano couldn't take it anymore.

_"Fratel- FRATELLO! _ENOUGH!" Italy really didn't like to yell, but Romano was deaf to Italy's other attempts to grab his big brother's attention. With a large shove, Veneziano forced his brother out the door.

_"Go finish making dinner_," he said, and shut the door in Romano's tomato red face. North Italy waited until he could no longer hear Romano's footsteps before turning and helping Greece sit up in bed. The other nation had finally begun to breathe somewhat normally and his eyes were once more beginning to droop as they usually did. Italy got Greece a small glass of water to drink before sitting down next to the bed. He cleared his throat.

"Sorry about-a that."

Greece winced and rubbed his throat.

"It's fine…although, I haven't been choked in a while. It is as… as unpleasant as ever."

His words were slow and sleepy. Italy couldn't tell if Greece was just speaking normally again, or if he hadn't fully recovered. He remembered what Romano told him about asking Greece what had happened when he woke up. But first…

"Why-a was he-a strangling you?"

Greece's quizzical expression almost made Italy laugh.

"I don't know. I just said sorry about all the blood and for the mess I must have made."

Italy couldn't help it this time. He burst into a fit of laughter, his whole body shaking. Greece did not seem to find it too amusing and Italy soon stopped and sat up straight.

"Greece?"

"Hmm?"

Italy swallowed and shifted in his chair.

"What-a happened?"

"I just told you-"

Italy shook his head and pointed to the bandages around Greece's torso.

"What-a happened to-a you? You-a were so weak-a and…and…there-a was so much-a blood."

Greece stared at Italy before turning away. He stared at his bandaged stomach, a hand to forehead. He looked as though he was trying to remember.

"I was walking in the old ruins in one of my old cities," he finally said. "I just…felt the need to go there. But when I arrived, I could hear voices all around me. Voices from very long ago. There was no one else around, so I began to dig and search, trying to find something. And it was cold. Really cold there. None of my cats even followed me in; not even Kiki, and she'd live in the _snow_ for the rest of her life if she could!"

Italy tried to ignore the fact that Greece named his cats based off nicknames he had given to the gods. He leaned forward as Greece continued.

"All of the sudden, I got this tugging feeling in my gut. The voices kept getting louder as I went deeper into the ruins. Finally…finally I came across this one temple entrance…with a stair case…and there were these old runes all along the walls." Greece shook his head, as if trying to remember. "I…I think I called America…but I hung up…"

"Why?"

"I…" Greece shook his head again. "I…don't remember. I just know there was something that made me stop and hang up…and then…." Greece grimaced. "Pain. A lot of pain. And blood."

"Then what?"

"I remember getting out and trying to get to my cats… and I told some of them to go to America and try to warn him…and the rest to go to you…but, before I could…" Greece looked at Veneziano. "A hand," he pointed to his shoulder, "touched me right here. I swear to the gods, Italy, this hand was as cold as ice. I tried to turn, to see who it was and suddenly everything was black and there was so much wind and noise. And then I was here." He motioned to the room. "All of the sudden I was here in Italy and…" He shook his head again and fell quiet.

Neither of them spoke for a while after that and the silence that filled the room was almost too uncomfortable for Italy. Finally the smell of dinner wafted into the room, giving Italy an excuse to get up. Greece was already falling asleep and Italy helped him to lie back down.

"I'll-a bring you some-a food later," Italy said quietly and left Greece in the guest room. Downstairs, he and Romano ate dinner in silence, neither of them willing to strike up a conversation. Italy offered to wash the dishes afterwards, but Romano shook his head and started the task himself. Italy on the other hand was left to bring up dinner to Greece. He left Greece to his meal as the other country did not seem to want to talk and, in the end, Italy was left with nothing to do. He sat for a while and drew, but after a while he realized that he needed something more worthwhile to do.

"I'm going for a walk," he murmured, already opening the door. Romano's inaudible grunt was all the permission Veneziano needed. He stepped outside, just as he heard a curse and a crash from Romano, and the cool night air hit him with a sense of peace. Despite everything that had happened so far, Italy felt relaxed at that moment. Everything was okay for now. Even most of Greece's cats had left, only a few staying behind to wait for their master. Italy made his way to the street. The world was quiet and Italy felt his people sleeping peacefully, the bustle of the day gone along with a soft hum beneath his skin. Even within Romano's territory Italy felt at home.

The only light Italy had was that of a small flickering street lamp at the end of the road. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, shattered the silence for a second, before everything went quiet again. Italy made his way slowly down the street, breathing in the cold night air, allowing himself to forget about everything. Maybe this was all just a crazy dream. Italy smiled. He liked that thought.

The shattering of glass is what jolted the country back into reality. Italy stood rigid where he was and held his breath. Nothing happened and, after a few seconds, Italy regained his slow walk. Something didn't feel right though. Italy shivered as the feeling of someone watching him seemed to settle over his body. The street lamp continued to flicker some ways in front of him until suddenly it went out for good and Italy was left with only the dim light of the stars to see. For the first time he realized he could find the moon in the sky.

_It's a new moon, _he reassured himself, chiding himself for being so cautious. _Ve…let's see, what would Germany say? _Italy paused for a minute and tried to imitate his friend's rough voice in an attempt to figure out what to do. He promptly gave up when he realized he probably sounded insane.

"_It's not like there's anyone here to hear me, though." _He murmured quietly to himself. So why couldn't he shake that awful feeling of someone spying on him. Italy shook his head and made to turned around. He was no longer enjoying the night; he might as well just go home.

The nation turned and with a yelp knocked his head into someone else's before him. He stumbled back, a hand to his forehead.

"Ve~ I'm-a terribly sorry-"

The growl that whoever in front of him replied with was so deep Italy could feel the vibration in his bones. His breath hitched and, slowly, he lifted his head just enough so that he could clearly see the feet on whatever was before him. Black paws met his gaze; black paws the size of dinner plates, graced with claws the length of one of Italy's fingers. The country's eyes travelled farther up the creature until finally Italy found himself face to face with a large raven. Its beady eyes narrowed and its beak parted, a quiet hiss escaping from its open mouth. Italy scrambled back, unable to breath. The griffon was at least twice the size of a normal panther, its massive head held proudly in the air. Where panther met raven the black fur changed smoothly into the shining feathers and while its front feet were those of a panther, Italy could see that its hind legs became massive talons half way down.

Italy staggered back and he realized his jaw still hung open. With a shriek, the griffon lunged at the nation and Italy felt talons rake across his chest. He leapt away, a hand to his heart. When he pulled it away, blood covered his palm. Another shriek was the only warning he had before the monster struck again, leaving Italy on the ground, gasping for breath. He kicked and felt his foot connect with the griffon's beak, successfully pushing the monster off the nation's chest.

Italy scrambled to his feet, ignoring the screaming of the monster behind him, and ran. He didn't care if he was being cowardly again. The blood on his chest had woken something within, something ancient. He wasn't running away because he was a coward. No. This time he was running because he couldn't fight. He had no weapon, no shield. No back up. He would need a plan. He would need armor, he'd need…

Italy shook his head. Thoughts of ancient battles and war mixed with the rational part of his brain that was telling him to get home, get help, and get Greece. Behind him he could hear the flapping of wings. Italy willed himself to go faster, despite how tired he was and how difficult it was becoming to breath. Italy stumbled suddenly, his chin hitting the ground, and he gagged when blood filled his mouth as he bit down. A screech came from somewhere above him and Italy looked up just as a shadow passed over.

* * *

America was scared. He was too scared to think. He couldn't move and he couldn't scream. He couldn't see. All he could was listen to the screaming and the sounds torment. America struggled against whatever was holding him back. He pulled one arm free and grasped at the bonds that held the rest only to come in contact with what felt like rotting skin. America let loose a strangled cry and tried to shake off the dead hands that held him down. The screams that filled the air around him grew louder and the hands clawed at his head and his face. Pain shot through his body and America's mind shut down. Pure terror filled his body and the nation went into auto pilot. America twisted around and kicked off his attackers, struggling until they finally relinquished their hold on him. In an instance America was running blindly through the dark. The voices around him seemed to grow but he ignored them, his only intent being to find an exit to this hell hole.

_Please no! _

_Don't go! _

_ Save me, someone!_

_ Please! _

_No…NO NO NO! _

_I don't want to…no…NO! _

_ No more please! _

_ PLEASE, NO MORE! IT HURTS IT HURTS! _

_ Mommy! Mommy, help me!_

America covered his ears and wailed along with the voices.

"SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU JUST …please…no more…"

The voices dug into his mind and he fell to his knees, shivering and cradling his head in his hands. America prayed for it to stop. He didn't even care who he was praying to, just…someone who could make it stop. Suddenly, light flooded the world and for a second America could see faces, tortured, bloody faces. The faces of the people he knew and loved. A pair of tortured green eyes to his right caught his attention and he tried to reach for them, only to find that his arm wasn't long enough. Then light invaded his own eyes and America was blind once more.

* * *

England's patience was reaching its limit. As if entertaining his brothers was troublesome enough, just after they'd left, America had come knocking on the door in need of assistance in some stupid plan. A plan that America admitted he knew next to nothing about. England scowled into his tea. He had been sitting in the same chair, staring at the same reflection in the same cup of tea for at least half an hour. His former brother had left a few days ago and England still couldn't shake his thoughts on America's visit out of his head. The country let out a groan and sat back in the chair, a head ache already forming and taking hold. Why did he agree to help that git? What had America ever done for him?

England's phone buzzed in his pocket and he reluctantly checked to see who it was. A picture of France appeared on the screen and England scowled. He slid his middle finger across the red bar, successfully dismissing the call. Whatever the Frog had to say was not needed at that moment. With a sigh, England stood and made way to his kitchen.

He had given up on cooking for others a few months ago, deciding that if he was the only one who could stomach his food, he would be the only one to eat it. It pained him a little, that small loss of pride, but deep down he knew it was probably for the best. He stared at a note on the small fridge; a reminder to ask Italy for cooking lessons. He considered ripping it off and just scrapping the idea due to his horrible mood, but a small ruckus outside the small kitchen window caused his forget about the small piece of paper.

A small bird lay on the window sill, its green feathers ruffled. England pried the small the window open and stared at the bird. To his horror, one of the wings was bent at an awkward angle and the bird was a still as could be. England reached out a hand and stroked the feathers, jumping a little when the animal gave a soft squeak.

_Bollocks! _He thought and carefully scooped up the tiny thing in his hands. _It must have hit the bloody window and broken its wing._

England laid the bird down on a small towel, mindful of its injury, and rushed upstairs. He rummaged through the small hall closet, gathering a small box, some tissues, and an assortment of other things and holding them close to his chest. When he returned to the kitchen he quickly checked on the bird and then set to work. In the small box he placed cotton ball after cotton ball until he was satisfied with the result. He placed a few tissues inside as well, and shaped a small dip in the middle of the makeshift nest. With a nod, England set the box/nest aside and grabbed the small bock of medical tape, bandages and scissors. Within minutes, the broken wing and had been set and bound, England trying his best not to hurt the poor creature more than it already was. The bird let out a small squeak when England carefully placed it in the box before it quickly fell asleep.

"Well that was interesting," he said to no one in particular and started to clean up. The bird was still asleep when he finished and soon England found himself searching online for what type of bird it could possibly be.

_Green bird with black stripe on-_

Half way through the sentence the Frog texted England and the poor nation almost dropped his phone in surprise. England cursed France and resumed typing.

_Green bird with black stripe on head and yellow face. _

He clicked images and held his phone close to the sleeping bird in the box. England went through almost half the results before a math finally appeared. The bird in the picture was far more plump than the one next to England, but the color was a perfect fit. England clicked on the link.

"Wilson's Warbler, ehh…" England turned to the bird. "Says here that you are not actually supposed to be a resident of England, let alone Great Britain." The bird should have been in North America or Mexico, not there in his land. England softly pet the bird's head, ruffling some of the feathers with his pointer finger. It seemed to sigh and settled down deeper into the nest.

For the third time England's phone rang, the Frog again. Finally England just answered.

"What?!"

He had expected some stupid comment about never answering or some flirtation declaration of what a prat he was, but instead all England heard was a deep breath on the other end of line and France soft voice.

"Call Amerique. I cannot get a hold of him or Italy."

"Wait, what-"

"Spain called me. He's freaking out. He can't get in touch with Romano and Italy won't answer his phone. America said something about having to talk with them later, so I figured I would try and call him…"

"And none of them have even called back?"

"None."

England sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. The warbler sighed in its sleep, it feather puffing up ever so slightly. Suddenly England sat up straight.

"Trying calling Greece."

"What?"

"Just do it! I have to go." He paused. "If Greece doesn't answer, call me back. Also, get Germany to try and contact North Italy. They're always talking anyways. Maybe Germany will know what's going on."

"Aye…o-okay. I'll call you later."

England ended the call and grabbed his jacket.

"Stay here," he said to the Warbler, which promptly woke and turned its head to look at him. It had a quizzical expression England had ever seen on a bird and if he had not been in such a frenzy, he would have sent Japan picture. Japan liked cute animals; he'd get a kick out of the bird.

The station was packed, causing England to try to weave his way through the massive crowd of people on their way to work. He checked his watch. 6:57 in the morning. England's shoulders dropped. It was too early to be gallivanting across the world in search of someone who wouldn't just fucking pick up the damn phone-

England sighed and gave the conductor his ticket. He'd take The Tube to the nearest airport and hopefully get to America in time.

In time… for… what?

England let his mind wander as he sat down and stared out the window, though there was nothing to see other than the occasional graffiti. What would he do when he got to America? He hadn't even packed or anything. He'd just left.

What would he do?

Find him?

Obviously.

Would America need help? Was he in trouble? Did he need some sort of saving? England shook such silly thoughts from his head. He was being stupid. America didn't need saving. England chided himself for immediately thinking of worse case scenarios. The poor bugger was probably sleeping the day away in a stupid food coma and England was just wasting his own precious time. Maybe England should just get off at the next stop and go home.

But what about Italy and Romano?

England thought back to his recent conversation with America. The other nation had mentioned Italy and Romano being part of this…this…

God, England didn't even know what to call it. This…event? Conflict?

War?

No. It wasn't a war.

No more wars.

Two hours was how long it took to get to the airport and for England to call America 23 times. None of the calls were answered and England was growing more worried by the minute. Even if America was slightly dim witted, he wasn't stupid enough to ignore 23 calls.

When England finally boarded the plane after an hour of sitting around in the airport he was actually able to think clearly. He couldn't come up with anything to think about involving his current situation, however thoughts on his agreement to be part of America's and Greece's plan did enter his mind. America had said they would need his _magic. _Since when did either of them start believing in magic. England knew for a fact that no one else did. Besides, what did _English _magic have to do with some stupid Greek gods. By the time the plane landed, England regretted even allowing America into his house in the first place.

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

England jumped when his phone vibrated and he hastily picked it up, almost dropping it in the process. He almost cried in relief when he saw the stupid American's picture staring back at him. He quickly read the message, disappointed in both the lack of apology and the insufficient amount of words it contained. None the less, he tapped the shoulder of his driver. They had been heading towards America's apartment in the city and England promptly apologized for such a large change in direction.

"Terribly sorry sir, but do you think you could take me to…what is it… _Farm Road 3.141 Long Island, New York 11954._ Quickly please it's urgent…yes, I'll even pay you double _that._

**Sorry for late updates. I will try to be better at having a more regular schedule. **


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